The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Garrett Robinson (poetry books to read TXT) 📖

the front door. With a kind word and a few copper slivers, Albern sent the stable girl to fetch their horse—their horses, Sun reminded herself. Albern had bought one for her. She could hardly believe that she owned a steed. All the horses she had called “hers” were, in fact, her parents’ property.

Besides the horse, Albern had given her a new brown cloak—or new to Sun, at any rate, for Albern had clearly owned it for a while. But it was warmer than the blue one she had worn when they met, and it was also less conspicuous.

“If you need to relieve yourself, do it now,” said Albern. “I mean to push our pace today.”

“But you said we were an easy day’s ride from Bertram,” said Sun.

“Easy if we want to make the city by sundown,” said Albern. “But I would rather get there ahead of the dark if we can. One of my friends in the city does not appreciate being woken at night—or being summoned, I should say, for he is usually already awake, and accompanied.”

Sun scowled at him. “I suppose you mean to tell me that we will not have time for the story.”

Albern chuckled. “Oh, were you anxious about that? Then be assured that I do not mean to gallop the whole way.”

“That is all I needed to hear. I will return quickly.”

She darted around to the outhouse in back of the inn. As with many places they had visited lately, it was only a wooden platform with a hole in it, but her nose did not curl quite so bitterly as it used to. She was growing somewhat used to conditions on the road, which of course were far less glamorous than the luxury in which she had been raised.

It made her wonder what her parents would think if they could see her now. But that thought carried worry in its wake, and she shied away from it. Thoughts of her parents had pressed themselves more and more into her mind of late. Had they halted their procession, sending their guards to seek her across the land? Or would they have carried on, eager to begin the long process of raising their station to its former heights? Sun could not be sure, and it was useless to think too long upon it. Yet in the back of her mind was being scratched, as though by a scribe marking events in a tome of history, a map of where her parents would be each day.

They would reach Bertram before long. Not today, as Sun would. But not too far in the future, either.

Sun did not plan to be there when they came, however. And so she found it easier than expected to banish the last thoughts of her family as she rejoined Albern where he waited with their mounts. Sun patted her horse fondly on the neck as Albern handed her the reins.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” said Albern. “You know it is bad luck to ride a horse with no name.”

“That was Mag’s superstition,” said Sun.

Albern smiled sadly. “I called it so at the time. Yet you already know my thoughts on many subjects have changed since then.”

“My opinions have not been tempered by so many years as yours.” Sun studied the horse in deep thought. She was a fine steed, though not fit for battle. She was too slight, and just a bit too skittish—trusting of Sun’s judgement, but nervous at a sudden noise.

“I will name her Undvikar if it will reassure you. Though I will call her ‘Vika’ more often, for it comes more easily to the tongue.”

Albern smiled, and she wondered if he knew the old tongue of Dulmun from which she had drawn the name. But he said only, “I hope you name her for yourself, and not for my assurance. But I think it is a fine name. Hello, Vika.” He reached over and scratched the mare behind the ears, which she hesitantly permitted. “Now, let us be off.”

They remained on foot and walked the horses at first, pressing into the busy traffic of the town’s main street. Many wagons and carts were plodding their way through the shallow mud, heading east and west in roughly equal numbers. Those heading west were laden with goods, mostly foodstuffs to trade in Bertram. Those rolling east were mostly empty, or else held items from the city to sell in town. But though the crowd was thick, still there was room enough to weave through it, which Albern did with expert swiftness.

Navigating the press kept them silent until they left the town’s western end. There the way opened before them, the carts having room to spread out. But before Sun and Albern mounted, she caught his gaze and spoke.

“I want to hear how Mag died.”

Albern went still for a moment. Then, without answering, he climbed into his saddle. Sun did the same, but she kept her eye on him all the while. She half expected him to spur his mount, still without answering her. But at last he returned her gaze, peering at her from under his hood, which he had raised against the last chill of morning.

“This is the third time you have asked me to tell you that, and the first time you have said it so plainly.”

Sun had expected him to deny her outright. His answer was not what she had asked for, but it was not a refusal, either. “You told me I may ask whatever I wish, though you are not obligated to tell me the story that I want.”

Albern sighed and turned his eyes forwards again. When he spoke, his voice was sad and solemn, but strong. It was the tone of one speaking at the funeral of a dear friend: an acknowledgment of grief, but also a resolution to face the future without fear.

“They say the best tales never end, but that is a lie. All tales end. Yours, mine. Mag’s. Yet while they